?Chapter 816:


    “There’s no need for that,” Maia demurred, a soft chuckle escaping her lips.


    “Your magnanimity is admirable, but I remain unswayed,” Alice retorted, her tone a blend of exasperation and loyalty.<fnff90> Updates are released by find·novel</fnff90>


    “Why are there so many people here today?” Chris inquired, his gaze sweeping over the bustling scene. “I can see staff members selling tickets.”


    Alice waved a hand in casual dismissal. “Grover’s ever the opportunist. Last night, he sensed the Otruitho artmunity’s fervor reaching a fever pitch. Sniffing out a golden chance, he opted to capitalize on the hysteria, peddling tickets to bankroll the Gascoyne Museum’s renovation.”


    Maia and Chris exchanged a nceden with unspoken understanding, their eyes conveying a shared empathy for Grover’s predicament, though their lips remained sealed.


    Momentster, the trio reached thepetition hall, where easels stood in regimented rows, their nk canvases awaiting the stroke of genius.


    Shortly thereafter, Mariana’s convoy glided to a halt. Kiley, one of the sponsors, had orchestrated a phnx of security personnel to escort Mariana. With disciplined precision, they parted the sea of onlookers, forging a clear passage for her grand entrance.


    Mariana emerged from the vehicle, her short dress a bold statement against the morning light. Trailing in her wake were her elder sister Kiley and the steadfast Raegan.


    The press descended like a ravenous flock, cameras shing in a blinding stato. A zealous reporter elbowed his way to the fore, microphone extended like ance. “Miss Cooper, what drives you in this artistic duel?” he demanded.


    Another voice boomed over the din, “Are you confident of victory?”


    Yet another queried, “You’ve wagered your career on this contest, Miss Cooper. Have you pondered the repercussions of defeat?”


    Encircled by a maelstrom of probing questions and the relentless strobe of cameras, Mariana pressed forward with unwavering poise. Only once did she pause, casting a fleeting nce over her shoulder at Kiley, who offered a subtle nod of encouragement.


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    Thus emboldened, Mariana came to a deliberate stop, pivoting to face the voracious lenses. Her voice, though gentle, carried the weight of conviction. “As one who has devoted a lifetime to the mastery of painting, I refuse to abide chatans.”


    Her eyes, twin shards of ice, scanned the assembly before returning to the cameras. With a rion deration, she proimed, “My sole intent in this artistic confrontation is to unmask Maia Watson’s deceit and banish her from the realm of art.”


    A wave of apuse swept through the hall, buzzing with energy.


    To Mariana, environments like this felt like old friends. She had grown used to the spotlight — whether collecting trophies at national contests or delivering speeches in distant cities, the dazzle of cameras and the snap of shutters had be part of her everyday life.


    Calmly, she faced the press. A polished smile yed across her face, unwavering as questions and shes surrounded her. Her eyes roamed the crowd. The person she was searching for was nowhere in sight.


    So Maia still had not arrived.


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